Guarding The Light by Melissa Deckard Bullard

Lottie sat beneath a stately oak tree, looking up at the black sky. The only sources of light – aside from her campfire – were the ones that people used to tell the passage of time: shimmering orbs in the heavens, bronze in color, called Hours. The orbs would appear (and then disappear) in a uniform succession to mark the beginning and end of each day. 

Earlier in this Day, when there were only Three Hours in the sky, Lottie had moved from her comfortable spot beneath the tree to stoke the fire and to pour herself a cup of warm water. Despite the fact that she didn’t particularly care for the taste of the water at that temperature, it kept her head clear. This was important. While she had never had trouble with anyone, it was always a possibility. The only thing more comforting than the fire’s warmth was knowing that she was safe within the circular glow that it emitted. Yet living life on the outskirts of the city of Darkest had taught her to never underestimate those who hate the light.   

Later, when there were Eight Hours in the sky, Lottie pulled a heavily worn book from her bag and turned her body slightly so the flames could cast their light upon the pages. She lost herself in the incredibly vivid stories – stories of lush gardens, valiant heroes, and of course, her favorite story of all: one of a bustling city of light, forever and always illuminated by a fire in a sky that was not inky black, but shiny blue. She often tried in vain to imagine what this may be like.

It was in this imaginative state when, at around Nine Hours, Lottie had fallen asleep beneath the charcoal sky. The book she’d been reading was open but face down upon her chest, rising and falling along with her breathing and the flames of the fire.

In her dream, she was standing on stone. Well, it was like stone, but unlike any she had seen before: perfectly pure and clear, but apparently sturdy enough to support the weight of an entire civilization. This stone was the foundation of the brilliant city that shone ahead of her. She saw glittering buildings in a sea of glorious light. The next thing she noticed was that the sky was blue. Then she blinked hard and fast and had to turn her face away, instinctively moving her hand up to block the searing light. Even as she turned away her heart leapt with one thought: Skyfire!  

Lottie squinted her eyes shut but turned her face back towards the huge, glowing ball of light that was suspended above her. She could feel the delicious warmth spreading from the top of her head to her bare feet. Her eyes were closed but they flashed with streaks of bright white light. Then she was on her knees, trembling, feeling sudden and strange mixes of fear, joy, hope, and doom. 

“Skyfire!" she cried. “I’m afraid that I’ll die if I look upon you.” She raised her arms high. “But I’m certain that I’ll die if I don’t!” 

Lottie mustered all of her courage, counted to three, and flung her eyes open with desperate abandon... 

And looked up to see Twelve Hours in the black sky above her.

She frantically sat straight up and saw her fire dimming. Then, just beyond the emaciated flames, the eerie outline of three faces, grinning wickedly in the dying light. 

Lottie’s heart was in her throat as she did what her father had always told her to do if she ever saw anyone from the city of Darkest. She quickly closed and tightly gripped the book that had been lying on her chest, thrust it into the last of her fire’s flames, and watched with awe as the book became a torch. It roared to life at the moment the campfire died.

And then she was running, footsteps quick behind her.

She held the book slightly in front of her to illuminate her steps as she ran faster, harder than ever before. The footsteps drew closer.

She looked up, a pang of despair gripping her heart as she noticed there were Eleven Hours now; then Ten. It seemed that with each step she took an Hour would disappear. She scanned the sky as she rounded a corner and now all the Hours were gone.

Pitch black.

Yet the book was burning – never consumed, but always burning. Lighting up the way before her so brightly that as her feet pounded the ground she wondered if the book might float up into the heavens and become Skyfire itself. 

Lottie’s eyes grew with fear as she felt hot, sulfuric breath and heard poisonous, vile words pelting her back like acid rain. They were close. She knew they would grab and extinguish the torch that she clung to if they had the chance. So she ran.

Suddenly a horrid scratch ripped through the back of her arm and she screamed, feeling as if all hope, as well as the flesh from that arm, had been torn from her. But as she looked ahead she could see the glow of a campfire, and people waving their arms in the distance. And she could see that they held torches of their own - books ablaze. As she got closer she felt hope and air returning to her lungs. 

There were men carrying torches and shepherding canes who ran up to and then behind Lottie. They shook the torches and the canes at the Darkest pursuers, who hissed and cursed before finally taking off. As this happened two women picked Lottie up under her arms and carried her to the safety of the large fire. 

The last thing she remembered was lying down on her back, looking up at the One Hour in the sky and the face of a young woman who was saying, “It’s okay. This is the village of Church. You’re not alone anymore.”

Melissa Deckard Bullard is a homemaker in north Florida, where she lives with her husband and daughter. She enjoys filtering day-to-day life through a biblical lens and seeking the beauty in everything ordinary. Along with writing, she also uses photography, painting, and calligraphy as avenues to direct her to that ordinary beauty.